Merry Christmas
by Entaria
Summary: Christmas is supposed to be a time of joy and family, but for one of the winchester brothers, it will be the worst day of his life. For the other, it may be his last. Rated for possible language andor viloence. Spoilers up to 'Born Under A Bad Sign'.
1. Christmas Eve

**A/N: Ok, I'm gonna warn you now that this is a rather depressing fic. I hope you like it anyway though. I came up with it in english class, and like usual, couldn't get it out of my head until I wrote it. Then I figured, hey, why not post it. This story has gone through so many major re-writes in the past two or three months that I've lost track, but now here it is in it's (hopefuly) final form. I'd also like to remind people who are interested that I would love to edit any fanfictions for you as I'm kind of an 'editor in training'.**

**Time line: Takes place soon after 'Croatoan' in the second season**

**Spoilers: This chapter contains a spoiler for the first episode of season 2. There may be spoilers for anything up to 'Croatoan' later in the story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.**

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Chapter 1

Christmas Eve

The worst moment in Dean's life came when his father died. He thought there could never be anything worse, then this had happened.

He looked around the hospital room. It wasn't supposed to be like this. In the background he could hear quiet, electronic beeps indicating a heartbeat. He was comforted by them. As long as a heart was beating, there was a chance of survival, there was hope. He heard the muffled voices of a man and a woman approaching.

"He'll be lucky if he survives the night," the man was saying.

"Poor kids," the woman said. "And on Christmas Eve no less."

The door clicked open and two sets of feet tread cautiously on the polished floor.

"I'm sorry," the man said. "There's nothing we can do at this point but wait."

Dean bit his tongue. It was all he could do to keep from crying. He wanted to ask if there was a chance, but couldn't. If he opened his mouth, the tears would come forth in torrents, and the words would beome a scream. He looked at the floor as one set of footsteps retreated. A hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

"If he manages to get through these next few hours, there's a chance he'll live," it was the woman doctor. "But don't get your hopes up. I'm sorry to have to say this, but it's more than likely he won't live out the night. It's okay to cry you know." She added. "I mean, he's your brother."

Dean didn't react, and eventually she too drifted away. He knew they would not be coming back. He laid a hand on Sam's broken wrist. The place where his cast had been only a few hours before seemed to be the only part of him untouched.

"How could you be so stupid Sammy?" His voice trembled. "Why did you do it?" he gripped Sam's hand tighter and looked away. Dean could barely stand seeing him like this. When he looked at Sam, he was consumed with the guilt. He hadn't been able to protect him, hadn't been able to save his baby brother.

'_You watch out for Sammy,okay?'_ Dean winced as he remembered those words, knowing he had failed the most important thing John had ever asked of him. His eyes fell on the extra bed in the corner. They had set it up when the doctors realized he could not be moved from Sam's side. He would not need it. There would be no sleep for Dean tonight. He grimaced as he looked back at Sam.

"Why'd you do it Sammy?" He asked again, knowing it was pointless. There would be no answer. There would never be an answer.

No. The doctor said there was a chance, if he could just get through the next few hours.

"You're gonna make it Sammy. You heard what she said. You just need to hold on a little longer. You can get through this. I mean, hell, look at what you've been through already," Dean tried to smile, but it died before ever reaching his lips. The words sounded hollow, feeble. A tissue-paper barrier between him and the real word that was fast dissolving. Nothing this bad had ever happened before, to any of them, and Dean knew it.

"Dammit Sammy, don't you die. Don't you leave me to do this job alone. I can't kill that son-of-a-bitch demon by myself." If it hadn't been for Sam, Dean didn't know what he would have done over this past year. Sam was the only reason they had found that demon again, and he was the only reason they knew about the connection between it and the psychics. Without Sam, Dean couldn't imagine how many mistakes he would have made, how many innocent people he would have killed, how many evil things he would have missed. Sam was the only thing standing between Dean and a decision he would regret for the rest of his life. But more than that, he was Dean's only friend, his only brother, the only remaining member of Dean's broken family.

If someone had to die, it should be Dean, not Sam. Sam was the strong one. Sam was the brave one. Sam was the one who had the guts to stand up to their father. Sam was the one who could do something with his life. He could go back to school, become whatever it was he'd been studying to become. He could at least pretend to have a normal life, to fit in. Maybe he could even forget the horrors he had seen. That was not an option for Dean. Dean was too far in. He would never have a normal life, never fit in, never forget. He could never get out. The job was the only thing he had, but it didn't matter anymore. Sam was more important than all of that.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm sorry for bringing you back into this. I'm sorry for dragging you out of school. I'm sorry for Jess, and for ruining your life..." he kept going. He couldn't stop. The guilt and the pain were overwhelming. He apologized for every wrong he'd ever done him. He apologized to Sam for the times he hit him, and the times he made fun of him, and the times he ignored him. When he was done, he just sat, gripping Sam's cold hand. The only sign of life in him was his chest, slowly rising and falling. He looked so fragile, as though a single touch would poke a hole right through him. Dean remembered calling him just that: fragile. If Sam made it through this, he would never again merit that description.

"Please Sam," he pleaded. "You can't die, you just can't. You're the only person I have left. I won't make you hunt anymore. I swear I won't. You can go back to school, get a real job. You never have to see me again if you don't want to. Just don't die."

Later, Dean was never able to figure out if the next moment had really happened, or if he had just imagined it. He thought he felt Sam's finger twitch. He looked up to see Sam's eyes flicker open, and he smiled at Dean reassuringly. But the smile didn't make him feel better, it did the exact opposite. His stomach knotted and every muscle in his body tensed. He grasped Sam's hand with both of his, twining their fingers together. Then he heard something he had hoped never to hear again.

At 12:01 am on Christmas morning, those tiny electric beeps, barely noticed until now, quickened, tearing through the silence as they became a single, mournful note.

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**A/N: Yes. I have done the unthinkable. I killed Sam. There was no particular reason I choose him over Dean, it just happened. I'm really depressed now, and I should probably go hide from the people who are bound to hate me for writing this story. This was originally going to be a one shot, and I was just going to end it there, but I have a few more chapters I want to write. Now, please please please review. Just press that little blue button right there. C'mon, you know you want to.**


	2. Christmas Day

**A/N: Ok guys, sorry for the wait. I got a cold on Christmas and my mom kind of banned me from touching anything. I would have posted Christmas Eve, but I was rather busy with last minute stuff when I would have much rather been working on this. Anyway, here it is. This one's a little short, but I'll try and get the next one up today as well, or tomorrow at the latest.**

**To the reviewers:**

**My god. Do my eyes decieve me? did I get /counts on fingers/ four reviews? This is unheard of! My other story never gets more than one review per chapter. Thank you so much guys!**

**Katrin Van Helsing: Unfortunatly no, chapter one is not a vision or preiction. It seems Sam may actually be dead.**

**Sandy Murray: I know how you feel. I was incredibly depressed for a couple days after writing that chapter. I get way too attatched to my characters, even though technically Sam isn't my character.**

**friendly: As I said to Katrin, I'm pretty sure he's dead, but you never know.**

**St0pSmakinMe07: Thanks for the review. It's stuff like that that really keeps me going. I hope you like the rest of it as much as you like the first part.**

**I hope all of you had a good holiday, whatever it is you may celebrate, despite this depressing story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters. I wish I did, but alas, I must make do with playing with them.**

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Chapter 2

Christmas Day

Harvelle's Roadhouse was packed with hunters, as usual on Christmas. It was the only place a lot of them had to go to, and one of the few places they could actually fit in. A few 'normal' people wondered in now and again, but they usually left fairly quickly. There tended to be a lot of tension between large groups of hunters and other people. Energetic Christmas music blasted from a makeshift sound system Ash had set up, and Ellen couldn't help but smile. It was Christmas, and nothing could go wrong. Even the hunters seemed to take a day off from their usual brooding manner to be happy.

Jo was waiting tables, also with a smile plastered on her face. A hand reached out to touch Jo's ass. Ellen just shook her head. Had her daughter been anyone but Jo, she would have freaked out on the offender, but Jo could take care of herself. Only the extremely foolish or the extremely drunk attempted to feel up Jo. In a few seconds the idiot would find himself face down on the floor with Jo's knee in his back and her knife at his throat. Ellen turned away to pick up a glass and smiled to herself as she heard the expected heavy thud and a chorus of groans and laughter from the surrounding men. The phone rang and she practically skipped over to pick it up.

"Harvelle's Roadhouse. Merry Christmas!" She yelled over the noise of drunken hunters playing poker.

"Ellen? It's Dean." She stopped smiling. He sounded broken. Totally and utterly defeated. "I, um, I need a place to stay."

"Of course, anytime. Is Sam coming too?"

There was a pause. "No," it sounded dead. Ellen shuddered.

"What happened? You two have a fight or something?"

There was silence for a moment. "If only," the receiver clicked as he hung up.

Ellen began absently wiping a mug with an old towel. Dean's voice worried her. What could possibly have happened to make him sound like that?

"Who was that?" Jo waltzed up to the counter and began unloading empty beer mugs from her tray.

"Dean."

"Yeah?" Jo was hoping to see them again. She was worried she that she may have permanently scared them off after telling them about John's part in her own father's death. She held no grudge though; it had nothing to do with them. "Are him and Sam gonna come join the party?"

Ellen shook her head grimly. "No, just Dean. Jo, I think something bad happened. Something really bad."

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**A/N: There it is, in all it's short glory. Please review. Maybe we can get to 5 this time? You think? Possibly? Maybe? Anyway, I'm gonna go type the next chapter now, so it should be up soon.**


	3. Christmas Morning

**A/N: Ok, I lied. I thought I would have this chapter up about a week aoe, but that obviously never happened. I've decided I'm going to post one chapter every weekend, so look for updates to this story and my other one then. Also, if I don't reply to your review, it's because fanfiction is being an ass and not sending them to me. They haven't been sending update notices either for the last couple chapters I posted, so hopefully you guys actually read this. **

**saschavamp: Thanks for the review. As to how Dean deals with Sam's death, two words for you: Not well. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters.**

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Chapter 3

Christmas Morning

Dean sat in his car, grinding his teeth. After Sam's heart had stopped, Dean tried everything he could to make it start again. The doctors had had to call security to drag him off well after time of death was called.

"Dammit Sammy," he pounded the steering wheel. "You couldn't have left well enough alone. You had to throw your life away. And for nothing!" There was no stopping the tears now. There was nobody left now that Sam was gone. The demon had killed them all, his whole family.

He reached under the seat and pulled something out. A laptop. It was going to be a Christmas present for Sam, since his other one had been destroyed when a demon drove a transport truck into their car. He got out of the Impala and stumbled across the street to the park, crying and staring at the laptop.

Dean had been sneaking out for a while now to wrack up some money by gambling and playing pool. When it looked like there wasn't going to be enough, he'd sold the hunting knife John had given him when he was a teenager. Then he went out and bought the best computer he could get.

Dean found himself standing at the edge of a sheer drop. A few meters below him a river rushed past. He stared, mesmerized for a few minutes, then roared in anger and flung the laptop as hard as he could. It shattered on a rock sticking out of the water, and the pieces were swept away by the current. He sank to his knees, tears still streaming. He was alone. Completely alone. Never in his life had he been more than a short drive form either Sam or his father. Now they were both gone, and they would not be coming back.

He staggered through the forest surrounding the park, not caring when thorns scratched him or branches ripped his clothes. He fell a few times, scraping his palms and knees, and becoming covered in mud. Finally he managed to make his way back to the hospital to gather Sam's body. He burned it in the forest, the same way they had burned John's, but this was harder. There was no one to share the pain with this time. And this time, it was Sam. As brothers, they had shared a bond that neither of them had ever had with their dad. When they were kids, they relied on each other when John was gone hunting, and it was the same when they started looking for him and hunting together. Dean had managed John's death, not well mind you, but he had managed, because Sam was there, and he thought he would always be there. When Dean lit his father's funeral pyre, he never imagined he would be lighting his brother's as well. They'd been through some tough spots, only narrowly escaping death on more than one occasion. But for some reason, Sam's death had just not seemed possible, even when it looked inevitable. To Dean, Sam was too much of an optimist, always thinking the best of everyone, and people like that didn't die this way.

He made his way back to the Impala just as it was getting dark. It sat in a lonely corner of the parking lot, under a burned out streetlight. The hospital and surrounding trees sported dazzling Christmas lights. All they did was remind Dean of everything he had lost because of the job. Exhausted, he sank into the driver's seat and laid his head on the steering wheel.

"Shit. What am I gonna do?" Deal with one thing at a time, he told himself. He needed a place to stay. He would worry about everything else tomorrow. The thought of lying his way into some run down motel by the side of the road just didn't appeal to him. Ellen. She wasn't too far away; maybe she'd let him stay at the roadhouse for a couple days. He opened the glove compartment. There was a pistol inside. Sam usually picked that one up. _Sam_. Dean sighed, brushing his fingers over the gun.

"_I'm tired."_ He'd told Sam only a little while before, holding that very same gun in his hand. With both of them convinced Sam had been infected by the demonic plague, Dean had been completely willing to shoot Sam, and then himself. What difference was there now, other than Sam had died by a different hand? He wouldn't have to shoulder this burden anymore. What purpose was there for him now? The one thing the three of them were most afraid of had happened. One of them was left alone to fight the demon, and alone, killing it would be nearly impossible. He set his jaw, picked up the gun, and shoved it to the back. Nearly impossible was not impossible. There was still a chance. Besides, everyone in his family had been taken out by the demon, and he would not have it any other way for himself. He picked up the phone and dialed Ellen.

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**A/N: Please R&R!**


	4. The Roadhouse

Chapter 4 – the Roadhouse

Ellen looked up as the door slammed shut. Dean walked in, looking the complete opposite of everything around him. Everyone there was laughing and smiling, some were even singing and dancing. The room was filled with lights and decorations while Christmas music blared. But the sight of Dean made Ellen's jaw drop, and caused Jo to pause mid-stride. His clothes were torn and covered in mud, and his palms and knees were a bloody mess, but it was his face that stood out the most. Ellen had never seen a more sorrowful face. Dirty and tear streaked, he looked as though someone had ripped his heart out. His eyes were dull and hopeless, and he was pale and drawn, as though he himself had become one of the spirits he hunted. He walked slowly to the bar, not even looking up when he bumped into anyone, not that they were sober enough to notice. He slumped heavily on a stool, and Jo rushed over. Ellen was the first to speak.

"Jesus Dean, what happened?"

Dean shook his head, blinking rapidly, then took a shuddering breath.

"It's Sam... he... he, uh..." Dean had to stop. He just couldn't say it out loud.

"What about Sam? Did he get hurt?"

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"It's really that bad?" Jo asked.

Dean just looked at them, then nodded again. Jo dropped her tray, the glasses shattering on the floor. Ellen paused in the middle of reaching for a bottle. They both knew that look. It was the same look Ellen had given Jo as she tried to explain that her father was dead.

"Oh my god." Jo put her hand to her face and fell onto a stool beside Dean. "Oh my god. Dean, I'm so sorry." Jo laid a hand on his shoulder and she, too, started to cry.

Ellen leaned on the counter. This shouldn't happen. Life was hard enough for hunters without shit like this happening, and so soon after losing his father too. It seemed some people were destined to sacrifice everything. She placed a glass in front of Dean. He hadn't seen what she put in it, but chances were it was some sort of alcohol. He looked at it blankly and began slowly spinning the glass with one hand.

"I'll go get you a room," Ellen said quietly. Jo shakily began cleaning up the shattered glass at her feet, and Dean continued spinning the glass.

Hours later, Dean stumbled into his room, to tired and drunk to do anything more than kick off his shoes before collapsing into bed and passing out.


	5. Boxing Day

**A/N: ok, sorry for the wait guys, I had projects and exams and then my computer broke, and ya. Anywho, I finally got this typed. **

**Spoiler Warning: because of recent events in the show, I'm bumping the spoiler warning to anything up to "Born Under A Bad Sign"**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters**

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Chapter 5

Boxing Day

Dean woke, groaned, and shielded his eyes from the piercing rays of light filtering through the window blinds. His head was pounding, and everything seemed a little fuzzy around the edges.

"Jesus, Sammy. What the hell were we doing last night?" Dean waited for an answer, but none came. "Sammy?" He pulled his hand away from his eyes, squinting against the sunlight, and peered blearily around the room. "Sam?" He sat up, searching the room frantically. There was no other bed, no sign that Sam had been there. Then it all came back, and the memories hit him like a freight train. He collapsed back onto his pillow and put his hands to his face. "Oh god, Sammy," a tear leaked from beneath his palms.

He stayed in that position for a few minutes, taking deep shuddering breaths, then looked over at the clock to see the time. The red numbers blinked 9:15. On the table beside it was a glass of water, two aspirins, and a note, which he picked up and read:

_Thought you might need these._

_- Jo_

_P.S. – you left your car unlocked, so I brought your bag in for you._

Dean took the aspirin, stumbled to the bathroom for a shower, and changed, even though it was Sam's bag Jo had brought, not his. He didn't feel much better, but at least the headache was mostly gone.

He went out into the main room of the bar and saw Ellen putting chairs up on the tables so she could clean the floor, which was strewn with garbage, food, and god knew what else. She heard Dean walk in and looked up.

"Hey Dean, Jo's chasing the last of the hunters out so we can clean up after last night. I swear, if we didn't force them to leave, they would stay all through the holidays," She looked up at Dean. "You look like last night's caught up with you. I shouldn't have let you drink so much."

Dean ignored that and asked, "Why's Jo here anyway? I thought she left to go hunting."

"She came back to help out over the holidays. I was tempted to throw her back out again after the way she left like that, but I couldn't. It's Christmas, and I needed the help. Christmas and New Year's are the busiest time for us. Oh god New Year's," at this she got a far off look and seemed to be dreading the coming day, but she soon came back. "Anyway, Jo'll be back in in a minute, and then maybe you can tell us what happened."

Dean's eyes widened, and Ellen knew he was going to try anything to get out of it. She remembered when she met John. He was the same way about the death of his wife. He tried his best to forget her and her death, but couldn't. Especially because he had committed his whole life to hunting the demon that had killed her. Ellen eventually got him to talk, and it would be the same way with Dean. Like father, like son.

"Dean, you have to talk about it. You're just going to make it worse by not saying anything."

"Why is everybody's solution to talk about it? Sammy was saying the same thing after Dad died, and you know what? I don't want to talk about it. Why should I?

Ellen grabbed Dean's chin and forced him to look at her. "We cared about Sam too, Dean, that's why. We have a right to know what happened," Ellen was trembling, but Dean couldn't tell if it was because of anger or not. He sighed and looked away, and she let go. "It came out in bits last night, but we couldn't make much sense of anything other than that the yellow-eyed demon had something to do with it." Dean nodded, and Jo walked in at the same time, looking pissed off and frustrated.

"Damn hunters," she muttered. Her expression softened when she saw Dean though. "You're up finally." She didn't really know what to say. Who does when something like that happens? "I, uh, I hope I got you the right bag. I didn't want to bring, um, Sam's, but, I wasn't sire which one..." Jo didn't know whether a reminder of Sam would help or hurt, but hadn't been able to tell which bag was which, so she guessed at the one she thought seemed more Dean-like.

"It's okay. I'm kind of glad you brought the wrong one," Ellen and Jo wouldn't know, but Dean was wearing one of Sam's shirts. It was comforting, to have something of Sam's so close.

"Are you ready to tell us what happened?" Now that he had agreed, in his own way, to tell them, Ellen was much gentler about it. Dean nodded.

A few minutes later, they were sitting where the four of them had talked the day they met, except now there were only three. Dean cradled a mug of coffee in his hands, took a breath, and reluctantly began.

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**A/N: Hehe. Cliffhanger. well, sort of. Anyway, since this is a Christmas story, I'm thinking of waiting until next Christmas to finish it. but it'll all depend on what you guys want, and how long I can stand going without posting a chapter. So send a review, and tell me if you want me to wait or keep going.**


	6. The Story

**A/N: okay, I'm very sorry for the long wait. I honestly didn't mean to wait this long. I had this chapter written months ago, but never got around to typing it. Anyway, the end of this chapter was originally meant to be the first chapter of this story and an alternate ending to... well, I can't remember the name of the episode now, but I'm sure you'll recognise it. I ended up scrapping that idea because John was still alive at the time, and his character didn't want to cooperate with my story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**

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Chapter 6 

The Story

"Okay, thanks," Dean pressed a button on his cell phone and joined Sam at the table of their motel room. "That was Ash," he said. Sam looked up from his newspaper. "He thinks he found it, the yellow-eyed demon, at a place not too far from here. Electrical storms, fires, the works. And, there're about twenty kids all having their six month birthday in the next couple of weeks.

Sam gave him a look.

"What?" the excitement Dean had felt at finally getting another chance faded.

"Dean, how are we supposed to kill it? in case you forgot, it has the colt."

"Ah, Sammy," Dean smiled and stood up, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. "We'll find a way, we always do."

In truth, Dean wasn't so sure, and as he turned away from Sam, Dean realized he dreaded the coming encounter as much as he anticipated it.

"Turn up here," Sam said half an hour later. He had reluctantly agreed that they should at least check it out, though he wasn't so sure about Dean's plan of winging it when – and if – they found the demon. Most of the next day was consumed by research. Sam stayed in the library, trying, but failing, to find a way to kill something as powerful as the yellow-eyed demon without the colt. Dean set off to get medical records on his own, as Sam had refused to help. Sam was still grumpy, and convinced there was no point in finding the demon if they didn't have any way to kill it.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said as he buttoned up his suit. "Maybe we'll be able to get the colt back from the son of a bitch."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, 'cause he's gonna be carrying it around with him wherever he goes."

Dean shrugged and smiled. "You never know, he just might."

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Dean managed to get the medical records they needed, but Sam had no luck researching ways of killing the demon. They spent the next four night watching households of the children having their six month birthdays. The city was large enough that on three of the four days, there were at least two kids turning six months old, so they chose houses at random. It wasn't until the middle of the fifth night that the thing they had been waiting for happened. Sam had a vision of the demon, and the house it was after. 

"Where? When?" Dean asked urgently after Sam's vision had finished, knowing instinctively what it was about.

Sam shook his head, grimacing, to ask Dean to wait a minute. Dean felt guilty. It was obvious Sam was still in pain, and he hadn't even bothered to let him catch his breath. Before he could apologize though, Sam answered him.

"Tonight," he said, his eyes still closed. "An old stone house, with a red door. There was a river running behind it, and a big oak tree out front."

"Did you see the street name?" Dean asked, already rummaging for a map.

"No," Sam looked imploringly at Dean. "But both parents will die if we don't stop it somehow."

Dean searched Sam's face, and not for the first time wished Sam didn't have to deal with this, any of this. Hunting was bad enough, but watching people die horrible deaths, and then feeling responsible for saving them... it was too much. Dean could see it in his eyes. it was too much.

"What do we do, Dean? How are we supposed to stop it?"

For a second, Dean was transported back to their childhood. a tearful Sam held a dead bird in his hands. He'd been playing with a slingshot, scaring birds away, when he hit one by accident.

"_I didn't mean it Dean. What do I do?"_

It was the same tone. A little boy asking his big brother for help, because big brothers always knew how to fix things. But this time, Dean was afraid he didn't have any answers.

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Sam was asleep again. They had finally found the house half an hour after dark. They'd only been there an hour, and Sam had already fallen asleep four times. Dean almost didn't have the heart to wake him, but he knew Sam would be angry if he didn't. After finding their target houses at the beginning of the week, the plan had been to spend the nights watching them, then sleep during the day, waking early enough to get food and get to the next house before nightfall. But Dean knew Sam had been sneaking out during the day, determined to find a way to kill the demon. The vision from early that morning had only intensified this determination. Dean was sure Sam hadn't slept at all in the last twenty-four hours, and was doubtful about the amount of sleep Sam had had in the last week. The lack of sleep and the added stress of the vision had visibly taken its toll. Dean prodded Sam gently, hoping he didn't wake up, so Dean could at least say he had tried to wake him, but they were in the middle of a hunt, and Sam would wake up for anything. 

"What?" he said groggily. "Oh, sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me, I just can't stay awake."

Dean wanted to say it might have something to do with the fact that he'd barely slept the last five days, but didn't. He turned on the radio to a station he knew Sam hated, hoping it would help him stay awake, but two minutes later, Sam had drifted off again. This time, Dean didn't bother to wake him up. The demon might not come for hours, and Sam would be useless in a fight if he didn't get some sleep.

After another few hours of waiting, the radio started cutting out, and Sam woke with a start, immediately alert for danger. Seconds later, the streetlights, and then the Christmas lights on the house, began to flicker. The brothers burst out of the car.

Dean was the first up the front steps. He started punching the doorbell, but is was working about as well as the lights were, so he hammered on the door instead. A brief thought entered his mind: why hadn't they done this earlier? Why hadn't they used the usual gas leak routine to get the family out of the house well before the demon came? Too late for that now. A bedraggled looking man came to the doorway.

"You realize it's 12:30 at night," he grumbled, glaring.

"Yeah, we do, but we're having some electrical problems, and we need you all out of the house right away," Dean said, using the flickering lights to his advantage.

"I'm sure," the man replied.

"Please sir," Sam stepped up. Dean let him take over; people always seemed to find Sam more trustworthy. "It's very important you get you family out of here, you're all in danger."

The man just looked at him, unsure. The decision was made for him when a scream came from upstairs.

"Out of the way!" Dean yelled, pushing roughly past. Sam grabbed the man and guided him out the door and into the yard.

"Go call for help," Sam told him. The man nodded blankly. Sam ran back into the house. Dean was struggling down the stairs, leading a woman with one hand and carrying a baby with the other.

"Take it!" He shouted, pushing the baby at Sam. Fire was quickly consuming the hallway above.

They finally made it out the door, the fire licking at their heals, and joined the man on the lawn. He was still in the same place Sam had left him.

"Well?" Dean asked him. "Did you call for help?"

The man shook his head slowly, dazed by the dancing flames consuming his house.

"Then go!" Dean bellowed at him. The man dashed off.

Sam felt a plucking at his sleeve and turned to see the woman. He realized he was still carrying the baby, and handed it back to her.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking from Sam to Dean. "Thank you so much."

Sam turned back to the burning house, and saw a shadow in the window. It was the demon, standing there, mocking them, just like last time. Except this time, Sam was going to go in after it. He had taken no more than two steps before Dean tackled him, pinning his arms behind his back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean had seen the demon too, and knew what Sam was after. "We can't kill it, remember? You said so yourself."

"It has the colt with it, I know it does,"

"You're the one who said it wouldn't," Dean struggled to hold on to Sam.

"I know he has it, I can feel it."

"I'm not letting you go in there and get yourself killed Sam."

"Just let me go Dean, I can get it."

"No!" Dean roared. Sam twisted away from him and dashed into the house. "NO!" Dean bellowed again. "Sam, you idiot! Come back here!" But he had run out of sight.

"Goddamit Sam, if I have to save your ass again..." Dean muttered, dashing up the porch steps. A burning beam fell across the door in front of him, blocking his path,

"Dammit," he growled. Dean stood there, watching the flames dance, not knowing what to do. He ran to a widow and looked in. Flames blocked the room from sight. He ran to the other window; just as dangerous there. He ran back to the door and looked through, the heat scalding his face. Beyond the burning beam, the hallway and staircase were essentially clear. If he could just find some way of moving the beam...

Over the roaring fire, he heard a commotion from the upper story, then a crash, and that laugh he so hated. He looked up and glimpsed the black demon smoke escaping out a window.

Desperate to get through, Dean started kicking at the burning beam. It took a few tries before it finally broke. Dean jumped over it, dashed up the stairs, and ran to the nursery.

"Sam!" he called, searching the room frantically. He heard a groan from a corner, and sprinted towards it. Sam was on the floor, a thick beam across his chest.

"Dean," he rasped, looking dazed.

"It's all right Sam, I'll get you out," Dean said, trying not to sound as scared as he felt. He tugged the sleeves of his jacket over his hands to protect them and grasped the end of the beam. It was heavy, and he could feel the blistering heat burning through the fabric, but he managed anyway.

"C'mon Sam," Dean pulled him up and dragged him out of the room. One of the steps gave way as he half carried Sam down the stairs. It seemed hours later when they finally got outside and collapsed onto the grass.

"Stay with me Sam, come on," Sam's eyes were barely open. Dean took off his jacket and used it to put out the places where Sam's clothes were smouldering. He tried to pull off Sam's jacket, but had to resort to cutting it off. Underneath, Sam's arms were bright red and covered in angry blisters.

"Dammit Sam," Dean didn't know how to deal with this. Wherever bare skin was showing, Dean could see more of the blisters. He noticed Sam's cast was slowly smouldering too, and cut it off as carefully as he could. That small part where the cast had been seemed all right.

"Dean," Dean grimaced at the pain he could hear in Sam's voice. "Dean, I got it." Sam held up a trembling hand, and the colt tumbled from it.

"That's great, Sam, that's great," Dean bit back tears as Sam choked and coughed up blood. "Now you've gotta do one more thing for me, okay Sammy?"

"Don't call me Sammy," he rasped, trying to smile, trying to seem like everything would be all right.

"Don't joke Sammy, this isn't the time," Dean tried to stop a fresh wave of tears, and gripped Sam's arm where the cast had been. Dean was afraid to touch him anywhere else, afraid of causing him anymore pain. "Just stay awake, okay Sammy? You have to stay awake no matter what."

Sam nodded weakly, but his eyes started closing anyway. Dean could hear the sirens now. The flashing lights cast strange shadows over Sam's face.

"Stay with me Sam, you've gotta stay awake," Dean pleaded desperately. His medical knowledge might have been limited to stitches and broken bones, but there are some things you just know instinctively, and Dean knew that if Sam's eyes closed now, they might never open again.

The sirens kept coming, now drowning out Dean's pleas, and slowly, reluctantly, Sam's eyes closed.

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**A/N: Well, there you have it. The story of Sam's death. I'm very depressed now. **

**Reviews would cheer me up though :) (hint hint, wink wink) **


	7. New Year's Eve

**A/N: Oh, hey look, I didn't forget about it! /_ducks as random objects are thrown/_ Hehe... yeah, it's been... well, a couple years hasn't it? Heheh... heh... ANYWAY yes, I have finally gotten back to it. And I promise it will be done this year! There's only two chapters (I think) left after this one, one is already written, and just needs to be typed up. It'll be up next week sometime. I'm sorry for the wait! Forgive me.**

**Also, I claim artistic license on any inconsistencies between this story and the series since... well, it's been a couple years since I actually started, and a lot has changed/been revealed since then. **

**Dislcaimer: I do not own Supernatural.**

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Chapter 7 - New Year's Eve

It was New Year's Eve. Ellen and Jo were busy getting ready for the expected throng of hunters. Dean sat alone in a corner, well away from the small group that had already gathered. The colt lay in front of him, and as Jo glanced over, she realized he had been staring at it, unmoving, for over an hour. He hadn't spoken much since telling them about what had happened on Christmas Eve. He would often be out for hours at a time, or holed up in his room, or sitting where he was right then, staring at that gun. She couldn't tell if this was just his way of dealing with the grief, or if he was planning something. If he was, she was willing to bet every penny she had that it had something to do with the demon, and that Ash knew something about it. She would often see him hurrying over to whisper urgently to Dean, as he had just done. Jo tried to surreptitiously move close enough to hear, but they had finished by the time she got there. Dean got up, stuck the colt in the hem of his jeans, and walked back to his room.

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Soon, soon he would be able to kill that god-damned bastard of a demon. Ash had found it again, and this time, this time, Dean would kill it, and end this thing once and for all. He grabbed his duffle-bag without pausing and turned on his heel to leave.

"And where are you going?" Jo demanded as he strode past her towards the door.

"Out," Dean growled, hoping she would leave it at that.

Jo set down the cloth she was using to wipe the tables.

"You're going after it, aren't you?"

Dean stopped walking but didn't answer.

"Why don't you ever come to us, Dean? We could help."

"This is my fight, and I'm not going to let anyone else get killed over it."

"But –"

"You can't help me, Jo!" He snapped, turning to face her. "It's bad enough my family got killed by this thing, I won't be responsible for your death too, because that's what'll happen if you come with me. I won't be the one to tell your mother you got killed fighting someone else's war."

He turned and stalked out, slamming the door before Jo had any chance to reply.

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**A/N: Eheh... wow, that's a lot shorter than I expected. Apparently three pages written boils down to one page typed. Oh well.**

**Please review!  
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	8. One Year Later

**A/N: Well, here it is, the (sort of) last chapter. **

**Supernatural does not belong to me.  
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Chapter 8

One Year Later

Dean's first attempt at killing the demon had failed miserably. He'd barely made it back to the Roadhouse three days later. After recovering, he was even darker and angrier than before, and as the weeks passed, he grew quieter and more impatient, the only words he spoke being snapped at whoever was unlucky enough to get in his way. Ellen didn't know what to do with him. It was one thing when he snapped at her or Jo or Ash, but when he started snapping at customers, that was the last straw. She didn't have the heart to throw him out, so instead resorted to banning him from the bar during their busiest hours. Even Bobby had had no luck in getting through to him, and eventually gave up.

The year had taken its toll on Dean. He had become reckless, not caring about what happened to him, and the scars showed it. Ash was still his "informant," more out of fear than any sense of loyalty, letting him know of every possible location where the demon might be.

And tonight he was doing just that. No more furtive whispers, just a note with a location, dropped on the table in front of Dean. He studied the scrap of paper, then slipped it in his pocket, and picked up the colt from its usual spot on the table. This time Jo didn't ask where he was going, or what he was doing. She just let him leave silently, hoping against hope that tonight, that last bullet would find its mark, and that Dean wouldn't get himself killed in the process.

It was a full two weeks this time before Dean returned. Jo had started to think that maybe this time, he wouldn't return. Ellen was thinking the same thing. Neither would admit it.

So it came as a complete surprise when he finally did return. Whether or not it was a welcome surprise was a thing of debate. He looked different, but the Harvelle women couldn't quite put a finger on why. It wasn't the fresh scrapes or scars, or even the awkward way he was holding his hand. Something about his whole demeanour had changed.

He didn't say a word as he marched silently past to what had become his room in the back, head bowed, lost in his own thoughts.

He came out, colt in hand, and duffle-bag over his shoulder. Without looking at them, he set the empty colt on the table. The finality of that thunk echoed through the room, even though the sound had not.

"It's done," he said, flat, emotionless.

The tarnished gun sat on the table, abandoned and dejected, its use outlived, a reflection of what the Harvelles saw in Dean's face.

"You mean you killed it?" Jo asked, but the only answer she received was the thud of the front door.

The two quickly followed Dean outside, finding him standing, frozen, at the door of his beloved Impala.

He let the keys fall from his hand to the dust at his feet. The only thing he saw when he looked at it now was Sam, and the empty space he should have been filling. That empty seat had been the only thing to keep him going, to remind him of what he had to be doing. Now it would only be a burden and a reminder of a life he no longer wanted.

He turned away and started down the dusty road, hitching his duffle bag higher on his shoulder. Jo started forward to stop him, but Ellen grabbed her arm.

"He just wants to forget, Jo," she said softly. "And he can't do that with us around."

They stood silent and watched the retreating figure until it was nothing more than a speck at the end of the road, before retreating themselves into the darkness of the Roadhouse as though nothing had ever happened, so that they, too, could forget.

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**A/N: I purposefully decided to skip the demon-killing scene. The action would've ruined the mood, I think. **

**Still very depressed :( As much as I appreciate them for being non-cliched, I hate sad endings.**

**So, for those of you who are like me, there will be a happier, "alternate-ending" coming up, hopefully soon.**

**So, it's up to you. You can leave it here and call it the end, or you can read the (probably highly cliched) happy ending when it comes along.  
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